Alcohol
by loveofmylonglife
Summary: Annie/Mitchell fluffy one shot. It's been a long time since Annie's tasted alcohol, so Mitchell decides to help.


"Ugh."

That was the only sound to come from Mitchell's mouth as he flopped down onto the couch with a bottle in his hand. It was dark outside and George and Nina had gone out for a "date." It was a vain attempt to remedy their relationship but Mitchell wasn't buying it. Nina hadn't even told George what he'd done to her yet.

And then there was his problem. His problem that consisted of twenty dead people. He saw them everywhere. On the news, behind his eyelids, in his head, on the street, in his bedroom, in the kitchen, behind the bar. He was afraid to open his eyes but equally afraid to close them.

It hadn't been like this before. With the others. And he knew why, he knew why. It was because it had been so long, he'd had such a long dry spell between the others and these new people. It bore into his memory, their voices, their screams, blood all over the seats and the floor, splattering on the windows, all over his face and clothes, even in his hair. How it stuck to his skin even after he took hour long showers. He wondered for hours at a time what the crime scene looked like. Dead bodies lunging from seats with morbid grimaces on their faces. Mouths open in protest and pain and horror. Warm blood still dripping down the glass like rain.

And his footsteps marked in the pool of blood. A pair of feet, walking steadily down the aisle, meeting with a second pair of feet in the middle. Daisy's.

He closed his eyes and rubbed at his forehead, tipping another sip back. Making it burn his throat. He wanted it to burn. He wanted to scrub the soap in the shower on his body so hard that it made his skin raw, he wanted to walk so far that his feet blistered, he wanted to comb his hair so deep that the springs raked on his skull. Everyday actions that would punish him, remind him of what he'd done.

"Don't you want a glass for that?"

He looked up and saw a grey ghost standing in front of him with a basket full of clothes in her arms.

"Uh…no, I'm fine. Less washing up, right?"

"Suppose so," muttered Annie, walking behind him and setting the basket on the table, sorting through the clothes. He could hear her muttering under her breath.

"Nina's….Nina's…..George's….Mitchell….Nina…..George, definitely George…..Nina….Mitchell, which one of you wears boxers? You or George?"

"Me," Mitchell called back.

"Oh, right. It's just that George normally does the folding because he freaks out if he knows I've seen his underwear."

"He's like that," said Mitchell, rather unnecessarily.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, rectangular tin. Pulling the paper out, he wrapped himself a quick cigarette and lit it, taking a long, satisfying drag.

As he blew the smoke out, he closed his eyes, tipping his head back, wrapping his hand tight around the neck of the bottle. That felt good.

"Do you want to take your washed clothes upstairs or am I disrupting your moment of quiet contemplation?" asked Annie from the kitchen, busying herself with kettles and mugs.

"I'll do it later," he called back, taking another swig of his bottle.

"What are you drinking?" she asked in vague curiosity, walking back into the room with a mug full of tea. She set it down on the table and sat back in her seat, squinting her eyes at the bottle.

"Jack," he replied tersely.

"Alright, no need to get all shirty with me."

She paused.

"Shirty."

And then started laughing.

Mitchell stared.

"Shirty? You know, 'cause I was folding shirts?"

"And I thought I was the only one getting drunk here."

But he couldn't stop himself from cracking a smile, his face softening as he watched her giggle over something so simple. She was beautiful when she laughed. She never seemed to do enough of it.

"What? Have I got something on my face?"

Annie raised her hands to her face and began wiping imaginary stains from her cheeks.

"No, no….it's nothing," he said with a short laugh, sipping more of his whisky.

"You know…it's been ages since I've had alcohol. Literally ages," mused Annie, sitting back, "I think the last time was when Owen took me out on this 'romantic' date thing and I had a glass of wine."

She spat his name with disgust and lifted two fingers of each hand to make imaginary speech marks. Mitchell raised his eyebrows, taking another drag on his cigarette, surveying her over the rising smoke.

"Have you ever had whisky?"

"Ummm….no, I don't think so. Mostly just wine. And champagne when I graduated university."

He smiled and beckoned for her to stand behind him.

"Do that thing, when you touch me so you can taste what I'm tasting."

"Oh! This is exciting!" exclaimed Annie, placing her hands on his temples, pressing gently. He thought for a moment, how warm her hands were, and then lifted the rim of the bottle to his lips, taking a deep, full swig. He let it roll around in his mouth for a few seconds before swallowing.

"Oh, that burns! It's all….hot and….oh, but it's kind of nice too."

He tipped his head back to see Annie's eyes closed, focussing entirely on the taste. She didn't seem to notice as he grinned and slipped his cigarette between his lips, taking another deep drag. Which she wasn't ready for.

"Oh! Oh, God, that's nasty!"

Letting go of his head, she burst into a short coughing fit and glared at him when he collapsed into a laughing fit, his right hand still nursing his cigarette.

"That was not nice, Mitchell!" she pouted, sitting back down next to him, folding her arms over her chest.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he pouted back, stubbing the cigarette out and setting the bottle down before taking one last sip. His hands were free but he didn't know what to do with them. He rolled up the sleeves of his denim shirt, scratching behind his head. It was quiet now. Neither of them were talking. But he could smell something faintly floral. And now he knew what it was. Every time he'd been near Annie, he'd smelled this scent, something deep but floral and soft. He thought it was flowers or air freshener, because he knew ghosts couldn't give off smells. But he was so close to her now and he could smell it, bold as anything. It was a beautiful, summery, sweet fragrance. And he knew it was Annie because in the midst of all that, he could smell the bitter scent of teabag powder and the aroma of hot, sweet tea. He ran his hands up and down his thighs once and then rested them there.

Annie noticed his agitation and relaxed her arms, folding them in her lap. Perhaps her mock anger had made him upset.

"You didn't really make me angry, you know."

"No, no, I know," he said quickly with a nervous smile, running his hands up and down his thighs again.

A small smile flicked across her face as she saw his nerves taking over. She didn't know what was wrong, but he looked like a little boy.

"I've never had whisky before but that taste was nice….it reminded me of what it's like to drink…to eat. To taste things. Like normal people."

He turned his head to look at her, a frown appearing across his face.

"You are a normal person, Annie."

"No, I'm not, Mitchell, and you know that. I'm a ghost and normal people can't see me."

"Am I normal?"

Annie looked up at him in surprise.

"Apart from being a vampire."

"Well….I….guess so. You eat and drink like normal people….you feel things like normal people. You can do things normal people can do."

"And so can you," pressed Mitchell, "You can do normal things too. Don't you make tea and wash clothes and clean the house like normal people? The only difference between you and normal people is that you're better. You make us all better. So you're a ghost and I'm a vampire. Those words don't have to define us. We don't have to be shoved into those little categories and be what people tell us we should be. You're normal, Annie. You can be whoever you want."

She smiled slightly.

"Well, I guess that sip was nice."

"Do you want some more?" asked Mitchell, reaching for the bottle and taking another deep swig.

"Yeah….yeah, I do, actually," Annie's smile was wider than before and she made to lift her hands to his forehead when he pressed his hands on her arms, pushing them back down onto her lap. Annie didn't even have time to muster a confused frown before she felt Mitchell's lips on hers.

They were soft and warm and not like the first time in Bristol. He was gentler this time, taking her bottom lip in his mouth, sucking so softly. His teeth grazed her lip and she'd forgotten what it was like to be kissed. To be kissed properly, with love and passion. Her fingers trailed up his chest to rest her palm on the side of his neck, stroking the warm skin, brushing her fingers past his soft, dark curls, tracing his jawline as he slowly kissed her lips, flicking his tongue lightly against hers, biting down softly on her bottom lip before pulling away slowly.

"Did you taste it?"

Annie didn't know what to say.


End file.
